Magnetized
by Willow Skye
Summary: Crossposted from tumblr. Post-curse Emma is under a lot of stress, no thanks to her growing attraction to Jefferson. Rated T for kissy times and swears.


_Author's Note: Prompt was Emma pulls Jefferson in for their first kiss by grabbing his scarf. Enjoy, and happy reading!_

* * *

She's never quite realized what it meant to be naturally drawn to someone and repelled by them at the same time. Like magnets. She wanted to be close to him-but no, he drugged her, he kidnapped her mother, held them both hostage.

So instead, Emma did what she always does: avoided thinking about it. Because if she didn't think about it, she wouldn't feel anything, right? It could just be a thing that hung in the air whenever she saw him, whenever they talked. She could work around it.

Or so she thought.

The night was always the worst. Try as she might, she couldn't get her thoughts to turn away from the once-lonely man with the hat.

_ Jefferson._

The asshole.

She hated him so much, though the blow she'd delivered to his head soon after running into him again had helped dispel some of that. But she couldn't get him out of her head, no matter what she did to bar him from it. He invaded her thoughts, creeped in through unnecessary whispers in her ear and gazes held for one second too long, through personal bubble invasions and the softest of accidental brushes of fingertips against her arm.

She told herself that she was only putting up with him for Henry's sake. He was her kid, he seemed to have developed some strange fondness for Jefferson, and besides all that, he was great friends with Grace.

That's what she told herself every time she slipped into the seat next to him at Granny's diner after dropping Henry off at school.

That's what she told herself every time she walked over to him while they waited to pick up their kids later that afternoon.

That's what she told herself every time she found herself staying for a cup of tea, which she made him taste first, whenever Henry and Grace had a project to do together.

At night, though, Emma fell into that void of alone unique to those who unwillingly tumble into a strange strong affection for a person.

Pretty soon, not even she can ignore the way her heart beats a little faster in his presence, or how seeing him puts the smallest of smiles on her face-even with all of the crap she has to deal with now that magic is in town, seeing him brightens her up just a bit.

She wanted to punch him again. She didn't have time to feel, she didn't want to feel, and she especially didn't want to feel for _Jefferson_, of all people.

But she did. And one night, she just couldn't take it anymore.

* * *

She grabs her coat and pulls on her boots and leaves the apartment to wander outside, just to clear her head with the cool Maine air.

Emma walks familiar paths, on sidewalks that nestle against her favorite shops, on crosswalks leading to favorite street corners.

When she comes to it, Emma decides to take a turn off on a path that's not as familiar to her, the one leading to the Troll Bridge. She was in need of something that felt new; she was tired of wandering through the broken town that was the root of many of her problems.

She stops once she reached the bridge and lets herself sink to the surface and sit in the darkness, alone. It's a relief, the first time she'd breathed easily in months, and she savors it, those few moments that it was okay for her to feel insecure and unworthy and incapable of really doing anything.

"Well, I certainly didn't expect to see you here at this time of night," she heard, and just like that, she'd tensed and unrelaxed all over again. Emma looks up and sees Jefferson, of all people, standing at the other side of the bridge, staring at her. She sighs. Why she's surprised, she's not sure. He always seems to be wherever she is.

It may be night but they're both still magnets.

"Oh my God, not now. Go away," she says, but of course this only makes him take two steps closer to her, because Jefferson is a man who never learned what boundaries were and how to respect them.

"I'm serious. I have my gun with me," she threatens, and he only gives her that stupid, annoying smirk of his.

"No, you don't."

"Don't sound so confident."

"Emma," he said, and it sounds so different than how other people say her name. She's had men say her name like a prayer, men who say it like they're terrified, men who say it like they plan on sleeping with her later, but on Jefferson's lips, her name isn't like that at all. No. It's a dare when he says it. A challenge. A belief.

His voice snaps her out of her thoughts, "You left it on your nightstand."

She sets her jaw and curls her hands into deadly fists, "Jefferson, we've talked about this." She sighs, "No more keeping watch with the telescope."

He walks closer, almost halfway across the bridge now. "Sorry, Princess. I can't help myself. I've gotten into the habit of looking at things that I care about through those telescopes." He licks his lips, quickly, and Emma wouldn't have noticed if she weren't so hyper-aware of him. "And it's not like you couldn't use an extra set of eyes."

She looks up at him and glares, "I can handle things in Storybrooke perfectly fine. I don't need help. Especially from you." She stands up and turns to walk back, done with having his conversation, when his voice pulls her back, like it always does.

Magnets.

"Oh really? Because it didn't look like you had things so under control yesterday when Hook's pirates were storming through town. Or last week when all one hundred and one dalmatians somehow escaped from the shelter and ran loose around town. Or the week before that, when you stumbled into Granny's looking beat and I bought you a hot chocolate. Or how about when-"

Emma's heard enough. "No, fuck you! You don't get to paint yourself as some hero for helping me break up a little fight, or for grabbing a few puppies. No. That's not how this works." She took a few dangerous steps forward, "I only put up with you for Henry! And for Grace, in some ways. You _drugged_ me. You held me hostage! That is not okay!" She pauses to take a breath.

"How many times do I have to apologize for that, Emma?" he yells back at her. "How many friendly waves will it take? How many cups of tea do I have to sip from first? How many punches do I have to take?" He lifts his arms up and runs his fingers through his hair. "What do I have to do, Emma? Tell me."

She's close now, right in his face. "You need to just stop! Everywhere I am, you turn up! You're always lurking somewhere in the background and you're just always with me, even when you're not, and I'm tired of it, Jefferson! I'm tired!"

"Then stop fighting it and trust me!"

"It's not the trust that I'm fighting!"

"Then what the hell is it?"

And this is the moment that Emma Swan-savior, mother, daughter, friend, enemy-has had enough.

She reaches up and fists the first fabric her fingers can find, happening to curl her hands around the flimsy excuse for a scarf he keeps tied around his neck, and pulls him to her, crashing into him desperately, lips meeting lips in the most desperate and violent way they can meet. He gives a small grunt, like maybe that hurt him, but Emma doesn't care, and by the way his mouth pushes back against hers, she suspects that he doesn't care that much, either. They're kissing, yes, but they're also fighting, each daring the other to be the first to pull away.

His hands find their way to her hips, and they wander slowly up her sides, the muscles of her back, finally resting as they brace her head and he lazily curls the strands of her blonde hair in between his fingers.

He tastes like black tea and mint and lemon and something else she just can't place and she feels herself lose herself in it. His kiss makes her want to moan, if only for the relief that it is to finally give in to her late-night thoughts.

When he nips a bit at her lip, she yelps and pulls away.

She grumbles. He's won yet again.

Her hands stay firmly attached to his scarf, though, and even with the clarity that breathing in air and not Jefferson brings her, she's not sure she wants to pull away just yet.

They let the coolness of the night bring them down as they catch their breath.

It's Jefferson who speaks first.

"Well, Princess, you sure have a funny way of telling people you like them."

She gives a short laugh. Jefferson brings his hands up to hers, closing them around her fists, gently rubbing them to release the tension in them. He leans and puts his forehead on hers.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to do that again," he murmurs, his lips brushing against hers as he speaks.

She nods but pulls away just as he's about to initiate another kiss, "Hey, Jefferson?"

"Yes, Emma?"

She's struck again by how dangerous he makes her name sound, but shakes it off to think about another time.

"I think I ripped your scarf."

He smiles-his real smile, the one he reserves for people like Grace-and leans in to kiss her again.

This time, she doesn't interrupt, she only gives in to their magnetism.


End file.
